


Always Alright

by dhampir72



Series: Always Alright [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Falling In Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 08, Romance, Season/Series 09, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhampir72/pseuds/dhampir72
Summary: Hotchner allows himself a small indulgence, in this quiet moment after a long case. It's one that he allows himself from time to time to remind himself that, despite all the horrors they see on a daily basis, despite all the painful memories of what has happened to all of them over the past few years, that there is some beauty in the world.And that beauty just happens to be Spencer Reid.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Author note:**  
>  I am very grateful to [Hedwig-Dordt](http://hedwig-dordt.tumblr.com/) for offering BETA assistance and advice. Without your guidance, I would have never had the courage to post this. Thank you~!
> 
>  **Reader notes:**  
>  Timeline: Set sometime in series 9, before JJ-centric episode “200”. This means that Alex Blake is still on the team, because I love her lots. Also means that readers should know what has happened to Hotchner’s wife (Haley) and Reid’s girlfriend (Maeve)

_There is no remedy for love but to love more._  
Henry David Thoreau

 

* * *

 

After a week and a half of profiling and investigating on too much coffee and very little sleep, the members of the BAU are finally going home.

It’s a relief, like a breath of fresh air, to say _home_ , and know they are going back to a city turning gold with autumn, to their homes and their spouses and their children, even to the unreliable inner city transportation system. It’s much better than California, because California is somehow never good despite its sunny weather and salty air. There are always too many bodies and not enough leads and never enough time. They managed to save one girl, but not the others, and their faces are haunting the edges of everyone’s exhaustion tonight.

For now, they manage to sleep, safe in the nest--the cocoon--that the jet becomes for them during times like these. Only Hotchner and Rossi are awake. It’s been like this before: everyone sleeping, Hotchner and Rossi watching over them, as if warding away bad dreams, just for a little while.

They’re just over Los Angeles, the lights of the city stretched out in grids of white and yellow, and it’s peaceful from over 25,000 feet in the air as they ascend through the clouds and into the night sky. They pass through streams of black and grey, until they’re above everything all at once, and there’s nothing except a blanket of indigo for as far as the eyes can see.

Hotchner allows himself a small indulgence, in this quiet moment after a long case. It's one that he allows himself from time to time to remind himself that, despite all the horrors they see on a daily basis, despite all the painful memories of what has happened to all of them over the past few years, that there is some beauty in the world.

And that beauty just happens to be Spencer Reid.

He doesn't know it--doesn't even have a clue--and perhaps that's why it's such a relief for sore eyes at the end of a long day, because Reid is there offering all kinds of hope without even knowing it. He simply is, and that is simply enough.

Tonight, he's sleeping, and the sight is more joyous than watching him read or move his lips when he's doing equations in his head to pass the time. When awake, Reid is so brilliant to look at that he's like the sun, so much so that Hotchner can only bask in his warmth and take measured glimpses of him before looking away. But when he sleeps, he's like the moon, serene and beautiful and so calming that Hotchner feels peaceful all the way down to his bones.

Reid's facing the aisle, so his back isn't to Hotchner like it often is. He lies on his side, half covered by his coat, his mismatched socks poking out from one end, his riot of hair on the other. His face is partially obscured by a delicate wrist, and even more delicate fingers. Even still, Hotchner can see his face, the way his lashes flutter as he dreams.

It's obscene, Hotchner knows, which is why he doesn't indulge often. He's old enough to be Reid's father, and yet, there's something about him that keeps drawing Hotchner's attention, begging him to look, look, look, but never touch.

It’s not always been this way. There had been no immediate attraction to Reid the moment they met, but the longer they worked together, the more they trusted one another, cared for one another, and that’s when Hotchner found himself looking. At first, it had been nothing but curiosity and amazement at Reid’s intellect, but then came an addiction to his boyish smile that Hotchner came to depend on, his dry humor, the way he presented himself standoffish to all, but would always come soft-eyed to a member of the team, to Hotchner, when it was most needed. And there had been fleeting touches: brief brushes of fingers and the squeezes on a shoulder, the gentle touch to an elbow, and, those few nights spent in hospital beds or waiting rooms, a reassuring pressure against his skin.

And Hotchner wanted more than he ever knew he could want, even more than Haley, even more than Beth, more than anyone else before.

"It's been a difficult one, hasn't it?"

It's Rossi, coming from the galley to sit across from Hotchner. He has two glasses in his hand, one of which he hands to Hotchner. It's water, though Hotchner knows that Rossi wishes it were something stronger.

"It has," Hotchner agrees.

"No rest for the weary," Rossi sighs.

Rossi sits, but then reaches across the aisle to pull Reid's coat over his shoulder to keep him warm. It's such a fatherly gesture, one that Hotchner knows he could get away with, too, if he wanted, but the thought of doing that, being so close to Reid to touch him, well.

Hotchner looks away.

"You alright?" Rossi asks.

"I'm fine," Hotchner answers.

He's always fine.

 

* * *

 

If Rossi suspects anything, he doesn’t say it, and Hotchner is grateful for his discretion.

He knows he’s dodged a bullet that it’s Rossi and not one of the others. After all, he works with some of the most perceptive people on the planet. They are the best at what they do because they can understand human behavior like very few can. The last thing he needs is any of the others meddling in his non-existent love life. Or thinking worse of him for thinking about Reid in any other way but a subordinate.

So Hotchner tries not looking at Reid, surviving on glimpses between elevator doors and reflections in the rear view mirror. And it’s working, or so he thinks, until JJ corners him in the stairwell one day at Quantico and asks:

“Is everything okay, Hotch?”

“Why...wouldn’t it be?” he asks cautiously.

“You seem,” JJ pauses, as if trying to think of a delicate way to phrase her next few words, “you seem like you’re avoiding Reid. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Hotchner replies, and then frowns. “Have I been...unfair to him as of late?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” JJ assures him, “it’s just. Something I noticed.”

“Thank you for making me aware,” Hotchner says. “Let me know if he comes to you with concerns. I’ll make an effort on my end to not exclude him.”

JJ seems to accept that answer, and the moment she’s out of sight, Hotchner runs a shaky hand through his hair. This infatuation with Reid is starting to get out of hand. He tells himself there will be no more of it, so that night, he has Jessica watch Jack so he can go see Beth.

Her embrace is warm and welcoming, her kisses passionate and adoring, but when she’s underneath him, open and inviting, Hotchner closes off and retreats.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and her touch is gentle, understanding, and Hotchner hates himself, because he realizes now he’d pursued her for all the wrong reasons. She’d been kind and he’d been lonely and instead of being truthful with himself about his developing feelings for Reid, he’d taken the first available sociably acceptable distraction.

“It’s…” Hotchner begins, and he wants to say _nothing_ , that he’s _fine_ because he’s always fine, but other words surface. He tells her that she’s funny and intelligent and beautiful and he loves her, but not like that. She’s surprisingly graceful, as if she’s known all along.

“It’s alright,” she says, and kisses him, very softly, as a sort of last goodbye, and Hotchner is grateful, _so grateful_ for her in that moment.

She says he can stay, and Hotchner can tell that she means it, but instead he drives all through the night to get home and only sleeps soundly at the first break of day. It’s an hour, maybe two, before he gets a text from Garcia to come into work, that they’ve got a potential case, and then it’s a quick shower before he’s back at Quantico.

Despite everything, he’s the first one in the office.

Or so he thinks.

He finds Reid in the break room, pouring himself a cup of coffee with a look of intense concentration. At first, Hotchner feels the need to run and hide, as if Reid could somehow know about what had happened between him and Beth last night. But just as Hotchner realises this is preposterous, Reid spots him and gives him a little wave.

“Good morning,” Hotchner says.

“Morning, Hotch,” he says, and then holds up the carafe in unspoken offering.

“You’ve read my mind,” Hotchner says, and before he’s even taken a step into the room, Reid is pulling his mug down from the cabinet.

“Black with two sugars?” Reid asks, even though Hotchner knows that he knows how he likes his coffee.

Still, Hotchner can’t help but ask:

“Should I be worried that you know my caffeine habits so well?”

Hotchner makes sure to smile all the way through it, so that Reid knows he’s teasing, maybe even flirting, just a little bit. And Reid’s ears go a little red as he fixes Hotchner’s coffee, already at one hundred and ten miles per hour despite little-to-no caffeine:

“You like it black with two sugars and Morgan takes his the same, but with cream. JJ does half and half with one sugar, two if she’s stressed, or espresso with soy milk if she’s been up all night with Henry. Garcia changes her mind too much for me to keep up with, but she’s got a weakness for at least two pumps of caramel. Blake is the only member of the team that takes it black.”

“And Rossi?”

“ _Doesn’t drink this swill_ ,” Reid answered, in a decent imitation of the man, and that draws the huff of a laugh from Hotchner as he accepts his coffee.

Their fingers touch and Hotchner lingers, just a moment.

“You like it sweet,” Hotchner says, and Reid goes pink, this time at the cheeks, and Hotchner wants to think it’s from pleasure rather than embarrassment. “More cream and sugar than coffee.”

Hotchner pulls away first, because he knows that if he doesn’t, he never will.

“According to Garcia, we're heading out west,” Hotchner says, for change of subject.

“Do we know where?”

“A small town about fifty miles outside of Las Vegas. If you'd like, you can take some time afterwards to see your mom. You're overdue for a vacation.”

“Thanks,” Reid says, and Hotchner can tell he is grateful, but his smile is something more melancholy as he continues: “It would...be good to see her.”

Reid looks for all the world as if he hasn’t slept in days, and Hotchner realizes, with some concern, that it’s become the norm of late. Of course, they all have their difficulties finding rest sometimes, but Reid most of all, especially after Maeve. He wonders if Reid told his mom about her or if she, like the team, had been kept in the dark about the relationship. It makes Hotchner wonder if Reid will tell her now or if he will keep all of his grief from her, as he often does.

In that moment, Hotchner wants to tell him that he can talk about it, if he wants, any time, and that he would be there for him, as he always has been. But instead, he grips his mug a little tighter and asks:

“How has she been?”

“She’s doing better, I think, with the new medication. They’re saying she has more good days than bad.”

“That’s great news,” Hotchner says, and he’s happy for Reid.

It must come through in his voice, because Reid’s melancholy recedes, just slightly, as some brightness enters his expression.

“You’re the only one who ever asks about her,” Reid says, and it looks like he wants to say more, but settles instead for: “Thank you.”

Before Hotchner can reply, he hears a sigh from the doorway behind him.

“Oh, please tell me that you made coffee, pretty boy,” Morgan says.

“Just brewed,” Reid answers.

“Beauty and brains,” Morgan says, and it comes out more like a hum as he passes Hotchner with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

He does the same to Reid, and it might be Hotchner’s imagination, but perhaps he lingers longer than necessary. It makes him inexplicably angry for a split second, an acidic rush of jealousy that Morgan can be so free with his touches, his compliments. But then the feeling sours into something like shame, and Hotchner averts his eyes, thinking about Beth and her understanding kisses and the way he fantasizes about Reid in ways he shouldn’t.

“Hotch, are you alright?”

It’s Reid, because, of course, it’s always Reid who notices things first, and Hotchner turns before he can look too long, before Morgan even gets a chance.

“I’m fine,” he says, round the hard thing in his throat, because he’s fine, he’s always fine.

He has to be.

“Not enough sleep last night,” Hotchner says, when he feels Morgan’s gaze on him as well.

“You and me both,” Morgan grouses, and Hotchner feels his shoulders relax without his hawkish scrutiny.

But Reid’s still watching him, Hotchner knows, because he can feel him just at the peripheral: quiet and unobtrusive Reid, watching, worrying, hovering so near, but so far. Hotchner can feel his warmth, like the sun, and it’s another one of those times that he can’t look at Reid, because then he’d know just how beautiful and brilliant Hotchner believes him to be. He can’t hide it from those eyes, not when he’s like this, all of his defenses brought down by anger and envy.

So Hotchner hides behind his coffee, keeps his attention somewhere politely between Reid’s elbow and Morgan’s shoulder, and resolves to collect himself.

“Round table in ten,” he says, before excusing himself.

His hands are shaking, and he feels the skin on his cheek burning where Reid had been watching him. But he’s alright.

He’s always alright.

* * *

 

They’re not even on the ground in Las Vegas two hours when Hotchner forgets himself.

After an incident with spilled coffee on the plane, Reid had changed into a particular pair of checked trousers that Hotchner likes on him, and when he stands at the board and begins creating geographical profiles, Hotchner lets his eyes linger a bit too long on what he should not.

It's then that Blake clears her throat, and Hotchner glances at her quickly, then away, before he can look too guilty. No one else notices, not even Reid, and when Hotchner gives everyone their orders, it's only Blake that fixes him with a knowing stare.

He thinks he might get away with it, thinks that maybe she will keep it to herself, but after they're back in Virginia and everyone has trickled out to go home for the night, she appears in his doorway.

"So," she says, and when he doesn't rise to her bait, she leans against the frame with her arms crossed over her chest, "Reid?"

"It's not what you think," Hotchner says.

Blake does something with her eyebrows that says she doesn't believe him.

"What am I supposed to think?" she asks, and Hotchner doesn't quite know how to answer.

"It won't happen again," he says.

And that is that.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps, not, though.

It’s two cases later, when they end up investigating a series of murders outside of Tucson where it’s so unseasonably warm that they’ve all discarded their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. It’s then that Hotchner notices that Reid is wearing a vest that cinches his waist to lovely proportions, and Hotchner's completely fascinated by it. He never realized just how tantalizing Reid's midsection was until that moment, and he manages to look away before Blake can catch him again.

But that's when he sees Morgan looking too, and they're gazes meet, just for a fraction of a second, before averting elsewhere.

It's later, when they are the only ones near the coffee pot, that Morgan makes mention of it. He's got his cup up to his mouth and says:

"That vest ought to be a criminal offense.”

Hotchner doesn't say anything in reply, only lifts his eyebrows in agreement.

 

* * *

 

It's not even a week later, when they're T-minus thirty from wheels up, that Hotchner notices Reid has one of his headaches.

It's been a long time since Reid’s had one, but Hotchner knows the signs, and he can tell it's a bad one by the line between Reid's brows and the muscle that jumps in his jaw as he grinds his teeth against the pain. Though it might look as if a stiff wind might knock him down, let it never be said that Reid was weak.

"Reid," Hotchner says quietly, once everyone had cleared the room. He nods at his office, "come with me."

The moment they are inside, Hotchner dims the lights. He sees Reid visibly relax.

"You've got a headache."

"I'll be okay," Reid says, and begins rummaging in his satchel. He pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen and gives it a shake, as if it makes it all okay, when it's everything but okay when Reid’s hurting.

"You shouldn't push yourself if you're not feeling up to it. We can do this one without you.”

"No, no. I'll be okay," Reid says again, and Hotchner knows there's nothing more he can do.

"You'll let me know if you're not," Hotchner says, not asks, and Reid nods despite the fact that they both know he's lying.

Twenty four hours later, Hotchner finds Reid in the men's room of the Broward County Police Department. He’s holed up in a stall, retching weakly in a way that makes Hotchner’s stomach twist in sympathy. When he emerges, he's pale and sweat-damp and trying not to meet Hotchner's eyes in the mirror above the sink as he rinses the lingering taste of vomit from his mouth.

"I'm taking you back to the hotel," Hotchner says.

"I'll be okay," Reid answers, but it's reflex, even Hotchner can see that. Reid's in too much pain to do anything else but go on autopilot. Hotchner knows that because Reid lets him take his elbow and lead him out of the building and into the car without protest. The hotel is only five minutes from the station, but it feels like the trip takes hours with Reid shivering in the passenger seat beside him.

Not wanting to cause the front desk staff any alarm at the state that Reid is in, Hotchner half-carries, half-drags them through the side door of the hotel instead of through the lobby. It’s better, anyway, because Reid’s hotel room is a much shorter distance from the car, and Hotchner can feel him verging on the edge of too-ill to walk.

Fortunately Reid had taken his satchel with him, which means he has the key to the room, and the moment they are inside, Hotchner gets him immediately into bed.

It's nothing at all like those few fantasies he's allowed himself to indulge in, where there are lips on lips, hands upon skin, breath the only thing between them. Instead, Reid is barely conscious as Hotchner divests him of his shoes and belt and gun, and it's just so wrong that Hotchner doesn't look and doesn't linger. Instead, he hurries to cover Reid with the duvet to keep him warm, then goes into the bathroom and returns with a cup of water and a damp washcloth.

He's as gentle as he can be when he dabs at the sweat at Reid's temples, but Reid winces, either at the cold or the damp, before his eyes open marginally. They're deep, dark brown, and despite the disorientation and pain, absolutely lovely.

"Hotch..."

Hotchner can't look at him, not with his voice rasping his name and his eyes so syrupy dark. So he lays the cloth across Reid's eyes and gently presses the cool material against Reid's forehead. A soft whimper escapes Reid at the attention, and Hotchner is very grateful that no one is there to witness just how much it affects him.

His phone vibrates in his jacket pocket, distracting him, and he knows he has to leave. But still.

He touches Reid's shoulder, just momentarily, before drawing away.

"Water?" he asks, and Reid swallows visibly and nods.

He slides his hand beneath Reid’s head and helps him take a few sips from the cup on the nightstand, then he eases him back down again onto the pillow.

"Sleep," Hotchner tells him, and Reid nods.

Hotchner refills the glass of water and leaves it on the nightstand. He also puts a bin next to the bedside in case Reid needs to be sick again. The mobile in his pocket buzzes again, insistent, and Hotchner knows he cannot linger. But he allows himself one last indulgence, brushing Reid’s hair back, then kissing him, very gently, atop his head.

Then, with all the strength he has, he gets up and goes to the door.

There’s an unsub to catch, after all.

 

* * *

 

Forty-nine hours later, when it’s all said and done and they are on their way home, Reid looks a little better than death warmed over. He sits across from Hotchner and smiles tiredly. His voice is soft, so soft that Hotchner doubts anyone else can hear them as they shuffle into their places on the jet.

“Thanks,” Reid says.

“For what?” Hotchner asks conspiratorially, and that brings a full smile from Reid, something that lights up the weak pallor of his face and chases some of the exhaustion from his eyes.

“There’s the pretty boy we’ve been missing,” Morgan says, as he takes a seat next to Hotchner.

JJ comes down the aisle with a steaming cup of tea, which she places in Reid’s hands as she sits down next to him. Hotchner can tell she’s trying her best not to mother him, but it’s in her blood and bones and muscles now that she’s had Henry, and when Blake appears with a blanket, JJ is already unfolding it and bundling Reid up like a child.

“I’m really okay,” Reid insists, but JJ’s having none of it.

“Drink your tea,” she instructs, and Reid looks a bit like a chastised child and does as he’s told.

“We were worried about you,” Blake says.

“I wasn’t,” says Rossi, from the galley, “Reid’s the toughest one out of all of us.”

“Thanks, guys,” Reid says, and Hotchner can tell he’s embarrassed by all of the attention. He glances at Hotchner just once during all of this, and then when the jet takes off, he feigns sleep until JJ and Blake retreat to the other end of the plane to not wake him and Morgan stretches out on the sofa to listen to his headphones.

Hotchner remains in his seat across from Reid, opening up the case file to pass the time. He tries to think about his after action report, about their heroic rescue of the two missing Florida teens held hostage in a storm pipe, but all he can think about is how Reid had said _Hotch_ with a voice drowned in honey, how brown his eyes had been when he’d looked up at Hotchner while in such a vulnerable state, and how Hotchner had been so daring, but so weak, to crumble to that desire to kiss…

“I’m sorry.”

Hotchner starts slightly, looking up at the apology. Across the table, Reid is watching him from beneath half-closed lids, and there’s something very intimate about his expression, open and soft with sleep.

“For what?” Hotchner asks, keeping his voice soft. Perhaps Reid hadn’t been faking sleep after all, and he’d woken and would soon fall back asleep if Hotchner eased him back to dreaming.

“I thought...I could handle it,” Reid says, and tilts his head, just a bit, so that his hair shifts slightly over his brow. “You told me before we left...I should have told you when it was getting too bad.”

“It’s alright,” Hotchner says, biting the inside of his cheek. There’s so much more he can say as a supervisor, even more he wants to say from a personal standpoint, but he holds back. Instead, he chooses the most tender thing he can think of that falls somewhere between the two: “I know it’s... difficult to admit when you can’t do something.”

Reid’s gaze shifts to the window, and for a long while, he’s quiet. A sliver of sunlight breaks through the clouds, and the evening light hits Reid’s eyes and turns them golden, and Hotchner finds it suddenly very hard to breathe.

“You don’t.”

“What?” Hotchner asks, with barely enough breath for the words, because the slant of sunlight has moved from Reid’s eyes to his hair, casting a honeyed halo in his curls, and he’s otherworldly.

“Know what it’s like,” Reid says, and closes his eyes when he sighs.

And then:

“Because you can do everything, all the time.”

Maybe he is falling asleep for real this time, because his words are soft and lilting, and Hotchner wants to tell him that he’s wrong--so _wrong_ \--because if it were true, he could tell Reid everything right here and now. But Reid’s already drifting off, and he’s smiling, just a bit, in a way that Hotchner’s only seen him do with books he has a particular fondness for.

“You’re amazing, Hotch...” Reid murmurs, and it sounds like he’s going to say something else, but his words drop off into silence as he succumbs to sleep.

Hotchner feels something hard and hot in his throat and he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry, because he thinks he might just be in love with this man, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

 

* * *

 

As the holidays approach and festivity cheers the air, Hotchner notices that Reid’s stopped smiling.

In the place of his usual sunny smiles are these half-things at half-brightness that don’t light up his face and his eyes the way they used to. Hotchner knows, perhaps better than anyone, why Reid’s not spreading his own holiday cheer throughout the office in his ugly jumpers and ties. It’s the reason why he hadn’t dressed for Halloween, why he’d turned down invitations to all of their homes on Thanksgiving, why he keeps pretending Christmas isn’t right around the corner. These would have all been firsts with Maeve, but now they’re firsts without her.

Hotchner feels guilty for all of his inappropriate thoughts as of late, because Reid is his friend, first and foremost, and Reid is hurting. Despite his own selfish desire to see Reid smile again, he knows he should do something to try to bring some glimmer of happiness into Reid’s life, even if it’s just for a moment.

So he makes a list of the things that Reid likes--books and coffee and Doctor Who--and he’s thinking hard on how to surprise Reid with one of them when he sees a familiar sign on the 610 and an idea comes to him.

It’s nothing special, but Hotchner feels like he’s done one small thing that might make Reid happy. And it seems the joy might be contagious, because he’s not even been in the conference room for more than a minute when Garcia appears, her eyes alight with excitement.

“For me? Hotch, you shouldn’t have!”

Before Hotchner can say anything, she’s already opening the box to look inside.

“It’s like you read my mind. This is exactly what I needed today. Would it be inappropriate to declare my undying love for you?”

“Whoa, what is going on here, baby girl?” Morgan asks, as he enters the conference room. “I thought we had something special?”

Garcia looks contrite for all of a half a second, before she opens the box for Morgan to have a look. There are a dozen doughnuts inside, flavors ranging from blueberry glazed and chocolate butterfinger to cinnamon sugar and sea salt caramel.

“We had a good run,” Morgan says, helping himself to a vanilla chocolate chip.

He’s just taking a huge bite when Rossi appears in the doorway.

“Doughnuts? Really?” Rossi asks.

“Hey, there has to be some joy in this sad room and I am not about to argue,” Garcia says, going for the pink frosted confection.

JJ walks into the room and spots the box immediately.

“Is that Sugar Shack?” she asks.

“The one and only,” Garcia says, fanning the lid of the box in her direction.

“So much for my healthy diet,” JJ says.

“I’ll eat yours if you want,” Morgan offers, hand already outstretched for another doughnut.

“Back off,” JJ says, swatting at him playfully.

“Thank God,” Blake says, when she sees the offering on the table, “I am starving.”

“Well, I guess if we’re all partaking…” Rossi says, going immediately for what Hotchner knows is his weakness: the chocolate sweet coconut.

Hotchner glances at the open door, then at the last few remaining doughnuts in the box, and he wonders what kind of idea this was supposed to be, because what can doughnuts really do anyway? But then Reid appears, and there’s a lightness to him when he walks in the room and sees everyone’s joy at such a simple pleasure. It starts in his gait, and then moves to his eyes, and Hotchner feels something in his chest that he doesn’t quite have words for.

“Wow? Doughnuts?” Reid asks

“Hotch brought them,” Garcia says, “we left the chocolate sprinkle one for you.”

Reid meets his eyes, and Hotchner feels a breath catch in his throat, because he hasn’t seen Reid look so unburdened in so long.

“How...did you remember I like sprinkles?” Reid asks.

“Yeah, Hotch, how did you remember all of our favorites?” Morgan asks, and Hotchner sees he’s already eyeing his second doughnut.

“Well,” Hotchner says, and pauses momentarily, just to have everyone leaning forward in anticipation. Then he deadpans in an expression of utmost seriousness: “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

That has them all laughing, even Reid, and there’s a momentary joy in knowing he made it happen.

It’s only after their case presentation, when they are leaving the conference room, that Hotchner notices that there’s a smudge of chocolate on Reid’s lip.

“You, um, have a bit, right here,” Hotchner says, touching his own lip in example.

Reid looks flustered and touches his lip on the opposite side of the chocolate.

“Here?” he asks, rubbing with his thumb.

“Other side,” Hotchner says, feeling the corners of his mouth tugging with the urge to smile as Reid feels around for the offending chocolate.

“Did I get it?” he asks.

There’s still a bit left, and Hotchner can’t help himself: he lifts his hand and reaches out to Reid with the intent of getting it himself. But then he pauses, because he can’t believe that he’s doing this in the hallway just outside the bullpen, where anyone can see, and to Reid, of all people, who needs support from his friends and not this kind of attention from an older, unworthy man...

But his hand is already raised, and Reid is so very still, eyes wide, like a deer, but it’s not in fear, more like...eagerness. Anticipation. Maybe, just maybe…?

The clattering of heels brings Hotchner back to himself, and he yanks his hand away from Reid before Garcia appears from the conference room, balancing her tablet and phones atop one another.

“Oh, honey, you’ve got chocolate right here,” Garcia says, and goes right up to Reid and wipes it off with her thumb. Reid goes bright red, and redder when she licks it off.

“I, yes, thank you?” Reid says uncertainly.

“Don’t look so traumatized,” Garcia says as she hooks her arm in Reid’s. “Aren’t you the one who’s always saying that kissing actually transfers less germs than handshaking?”

Reid’s eyes flick over to Hotchner’s, and then Reid swallows and looks away.

Garcia goes on to say something else, but Hotchner doesn’t hear. And he’s pretty sure Reid doesn’t, either, because as Garcia leads him away, Hotchner doesn't hear him say another word.

 

* * *

 

They are all out to dinner one night after a too-long case when it happens.

Maybe they’ve all had a few too many well-deserved drinks. Maybe it’s just exhaustion and the need for release. But it’s Chinese and Reid is fumbling with chopsticks, and there’s something so endearing about it that Hotchner can’t help but laugh. Everyone at the table does too, and it isn’t malicious, not at all, just something they all needed after seeing too much all at once. But Reid turns red and stops his fumbling with an embarrassed mumble, and then he excuses himself to go to the restroom.

“Okay, for real, guys, we can’t laugh at Reid like that,” Morgan says.

“It’s just so cute, he’s like a baby bird,” Garcia says, and JJ chokes on her Lo Mein as she starts laughing again.

“Alright, children, that’s enough,” Rossi says, ever the grumpy grandfather of their group.

“Wow, Rossi. Soon you’ll be yelling at all those pesky kids to get off your lawn,” Morgan says.

“Soon? I did that last Thursday,” Rossi answers, and that has the entire table laughing, even Hotchner.

But then he realizes that Reid hasn’t come back yet, and that makes him excuse himself to go search for him. He doesn’t find Reid in the restroom, or anywhere inside the restaurant. It’s only the passing mention from their server as she walks by that Hotchner finds Reid outside. It’s on the verge of snowing, and Reid doesn’t have a jacket, but he’s standing outside all the same.

“Reid?”

Reid turns around, and he tries for a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and that’s when Hotchner knows how much his feelings have been hurt.

“You know we weren’t laughing at your expense. I’m sorry if it seemed that way.”

“I know,” Reid says softly, and he’s looking at the ground instead of at Hotchner. “After everything we saw this past week, it’s good to hear everyone laugh again.”

“But that doesn’t mean we had to laugh at you. We won’t do it again.”

Reid nods and tries to smile again, and somehow, it just breaks Hotchner’s heart. How often had Reid covered up his pain that way? And how often had no one ever bothered to notice?

“Reid,” Hotchner says, “you’re very important. To all of us.”

And then Hotchner steps closer, puts his hand on Reid’s shoulder, and the pad of his thumb finds it’s home right at the bare hollow of Reid’s throat. To anyone passing by, it might look friendly, but then Hotchner moves his thumb once, twice, caressing the skin of Reid’s throat, feeling the surge in heat in Reid’s flesh as his pulse rises at the touch.

“To me,” Hotchner says.

Reid swallows, and Hotchner follows the motion with his eyes, before letting his gaze travel up to Reid’s. His brown eyes are very dark, and there’s a flush to him that Hotchner finds particularly fetching. Hotchner could kiss him right then and there, but he doesn’t, because it’s not appropriate, not now, not ever. So he lets his hand slide from Reid’s shoulder and nods back at the restaurant.

“Let’s get back inside before we freeze to death.”

“You know, hypothermia clinically occurs when core body temperature drops below 35°C, so we wouldn’t technically freeze to death for another few hours,” Reid says, and Hotchner might think it’s his excuse to stand outside with him a little longer, but he’s not about to hope.

“Well, then we should get back inside before our dinners get cold,” Hotchner says, and Reid gives a stiff nod and follows him back towards the restaurant.

Hotchner opens the door, and Reid goes ahead, back to their table. But Hotchner lingers behind, still feeling the warmth of Reid’s skin upon his hand, the heat of his pulse, and he wants so badly that it hurts.

“Hotch? Everything okay?”

It’s JJ, behind him, unable to see his face, and Hotchner’s grateful, because he has no idea how he looks, torn between desire and shame.

“Yeah. I just went to find Reid.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.”

JJ sighs and comes to stand at his side before resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“I feel so bad for laughing at him. It’s been such a hard year...I feel like a terrible friend.”

“I know,” Hotchner says, because he does. “I do too.”

JJ takes one look at his face and her expression softens. Leave it to JJ to make sense of all the confusion in his head.

“Oh, Hotch…” she says, “how long…?”

“Please...don’t say anything,” Hotchner says, glancing at their table. “It’s... not the right time.”

JJ touches his arm.

“Is it ever the right time?” she asks, and then raises her eyebrows. “In our line of work, Hotch--”

“I know.”

She squeezes at his elbow.

“Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes,” Hotchner says, and smiles, as much as he can.

“I’m always alright.”

 

* * *

 

Or so he thinks.

It’s after the New Year and they’re in their own backyard, closing in on two separate subjects they believe to have knowledge of the kidnapping and murder of six local waitresses.

Hotchner is with Reid and Blake at the house of one of their suspects, Morgan and JJ at another. The police are with Blake at the front while Hotchner and Reid take the back, and that’s when their suspect, J. Hayes, comes running out his back door and starts dashing into the woods.

Without a second thought, Hotchner bolts after the suspect, and Reid is not far behind him. They are taking in the tough terrain in the dark decently well, able to see only by the reflection of weak moonlight from the two inches of snow on the ground. But Hayes knows the woods better than them and Hotchner knows he’s going to outrun them if they don’t think of something quickly.

So Hotchner takes a literal shot in the dark, striking the Hayes in one of his lower extremities, slowing him down considerably. They manage to run him down, following a blood trail into a ravine. Hayes is trying to cross the frozen riverbed when Hotchner shouts:

“FBI!”

He doesn’t get another word out, because Hayes rounds on them, and there’s a glint of a weapon in his hand before he fires blindly into the night.

It happens so fast that it takes Hotchner to register what he’d seen out of the corner of his eye: Reid, just at his right, flying backward with the sound of the gunshot.

And Hotchner doesn't think, doesn’t even aim: he just pulls the trigger.

Hayes takes the bullet right between the eyes, but Hotchner isn't thinking about that, already at Reid's side. It's dark, so he can't see anything right away, except for the fact that Reid isn’t moving, and that's just not right. He manages to articulate the need for an ambulance into his walkie, despite his heart thundering in his ears as he says _agent down_. It's so loud, he can't tell if the pulse he feels is in Reid's neck or in his own fingers, and Hotchner can barely breathe.

"Reid," Hotchner says, as he feels for injury around Reid’s bulletproof vest, but his hands are shaking so badly he can’t make sense of anything he’s feeling, "Reid, talk to me."

He finds no blood, no apparent injury, and that has him even more panicked as he moves up Reid's body. He touches Reid's neck, his cheeks, his forehead, but there's no wounds that he can feel, except for right around his ear, where it’s wet, and when Hotchner pulls his hand back, he sees shiny black coating his fingers. It’s blood, so much blood, and Hotchner’s vision narrows because _no, no, no_ he can’t let Reid die. Not here, not now, not ever.

“Reid,” Hotchner says again, and he doesn’t care that it sounds like he’s begging. “I need you to talk to me, Reid!”

He knows he shouldn’t, but he gives Reid a desperate shake at his shoulders.

“Reid!”

And then, by some miracle, there’s a soft inhale in the night.

"Hotch...?”

Hotchner feels a laugh bubble out of his chest in relief, pure relief, because his eyes have adjusted enough to see Reid looking up at him, dazed, but alive. It’s adrenaline, he knows, and the last dregs of fear and a steady thrum in his veins of joy, but Hotchner can’t help but put his arms round Reid, bending himself over the other man to press himself as close as two bodies can possibly be, as close as two pairs of lips can be.

He knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s wrong when there’s a hot gun in the snow next to him and cooling blood on his hands and a dead man not even ten feet from them. But there’s nothing he can do about it now except pull back, try to regain some control over himself, the situation.

“You’re alright,” Hotchner tells him, and it might be more for himself than for Reid, whose breaths are steady and warm against his cheek, in stark contrast with the cold snow biting into Hotchner’s forearms. “You’re alright.”

“Hotch…?” Reid asks, quieter this time, so quiet that Hotchner almost can’t hear him over the _thump-thump-thump_ staccato of his heart.

Hotchner sits up, pressing gently against Reid’s shoulder when he feels him trying to follow.

"Don't move, there's an ambulance on the way.”

"I'm fine, I think I just...hit my head," Reid says, reaching a hand up to touch the back of his neck.

He hisses at the motion, and instead of inspecting his head, starts prodding at his vest.

"And I think I got shot.”

Hotchner places his hands atop Reid’s, gently prying fingers away from where they are clawing at the fabric. There is an indent right below Reid’s heart; Hotchner’s thumb catches on the sharp edge of a bullet embedded there.

"You definitely got shot.”

"Oh," Reid says, and his voice is strangely casual, like Hotchner’s just told him it’s going to rain.

“You’re going to be alright,” Hotchner tells him again. “Your vest saved your life.”

Reid starts shaking, either from the cold or the shock, and Hotchner takes off his windbreaker, covering him in an attempt to keep him warm.

“You saved my life,” Reid says, like he’s falling asleep, but then he takes in a gasp of air and his cold fingers are grasping for Hotchner. “Was there...only one shot? I can’t--are you okay?”

“I’m alright, shhh,” Hotchner says softly.

Reid’s teeth start chattering and Hotchner can see the faint clouds of his breath rising into the air.

“And Hayes?”

“Dead.”

Reid’s brow furrows in confusion.

“We...we needed to question him…”

“He shot you,” Hotchner says

“But--”

“He shot at you with the intention to kill you. I would do it again without hesitation,” Hotchner says, and even he can hear the edge in his own voice.

He tries to calm, but it’s hard when he can feel Reid’s blood turning tacky on his skin. So Hotchner breathes and breathes, trying dull that sharp anger to something softer, because Reid needs his gentleness now more than his wrath. But it doesn’t calm, not until Reid touches the inside of his wrist, the cool tips of his fingers quieting the thunder of Hotchner’s pulse.

“Thank you,” Reid says.

They stay like that for some time, the two of them breathing and holding onto one another in the dark, the snow dampening their clothes, chilling their skin. It feels like hours before Hotchner can hear things other than his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, before there’s the sound of sirens, then the crunch boots making their way through the snow-covered underbrush.

“We’re over here!” Hotchner calls into the night, and the boots start hurrying in their direction.

The flashlights are momentarily blinding, but when Hotchner can see again, there are two EMTs at his side, already looking Reid over. And then, all at once, there are police everywhere, and dogs, and lights. The sheriff is bent over Hayes’ body, but Hotchner’s more focused on the amount of blood in the snow beneath Reid’s head.

“Oh my God…”

The words come from behind Hotchner, and then Blake is beside him, her fingers digging into Hotchner’s shoulder so hard he knows he’ll bruise. She’s looking at the blood, too, and the way that the EMTs are hurrying to get Reid onto a stretcher and to the ambulance.

“He’s okay,” Hotchner says, placing his hand over hers.

She’s shaking, but he’s calm, because he knows:

“He’s going to be okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Reid is okay, aside from three bruised ribs and a concussion.

He comes back to work immediately, but not without protest from the team. Hotchner doesn’t think three days is enough, but Reid comes in all the same, only to be surrounded by JJ, Blake, and Garcia the moment he steps foot in the bullpen.

“You had a concussion,” JJ is saying, as Hotchner approaches the group.

“Had, in the past tense,” Reid says, stepping around her to set his bag down on his seat. “I’m better now. Not even a headache.”

“But you got shot, Reid!” Garcia says. “Shot! With a gun!”

“In the vest,” Reid replies.

Garcia catches Hotchner’s eye and looks to him for support.

“He got shot,” she says, as if Hotchner didn’t know.

“In the vest,” Hotchner says, and he sees the flicker of a smile from Reid.

“Oh my god, why are boys so stupid?” Garcia asks, giving Blake a desperate look.

It’s then that Morgan appears behind Garcia and asks:

“Do you want the unabridged version or the Cliffs Notes?”

She jumps, nearly dropping her coffee, and then smacks Morgan’s arm in retaliation. Morgan laughs it off in his good-natured way, moving round her and Blake to his desk.

“Hey, Pretty Boy. It’s good to have you back,” Morgan says, giving Reid a playful swat on the back.

Reid goes white and grips the back of his chair to stay upright.

“Wow, still sore, huh?” Morgan asks, and Reid grimaces in lieu of reply.

“Oh my god, you could have killed him!”

“Baby girl, calm down…”

“Maybe you ought to go home?” Blake says, over the sound of Garcia and Morgan squabbling behind them.

“I’m fine,” Reid says, rubbing at his ribs.

“Spence, you’re white as a sheet,” JJ says worriedly, rubbing at his back gently.

JJ looks to Hotchner, as if for help, but he’s too focused on Reid’s pallor, the white-knuckled grip he has on the back of the chair, to offer up any words of support.

“Hey, Hotch, didn’t you need Reid to fill out some paperwork?” Blake asks, a little mischievously.

Hotchner feels his eyebrow moving to his hairline, then even higher as JJ jumps on the bandwagon with Blake, smiling a conspiratorial smile.

“CA-1?” JJ suggests.

Hotchner is no idiot. He knows what they are doing, knows that he’s being coerced into taking action, and though he wants to fight, Hotchner knows it’s a futile endeavor. So he straightens his shoulders and tries for a neutral expression when he says:

“Reid, when you can, my office.”

He then turns and goes directly to said office, using its semi-privacy to collect himself.

He takes a breath.

It’s been three days.

After the adrenaline had worn off the night Reid had been shot, Hotchner realized what he’d done: emotions heightened, fear thrumming through his veins, he’d exposed himself. He’d kissed Reid without explanation, without consent, and then hadn’t spoken to him since his release from the hospital that very same night.

So for three days he’d been left to think about it. Doing reports, he thought about it. Putting Jack to bed, he thought about it. All this time thinking about it and Hotchner is still unsure of what to do. To deny himself, pretend it never happened, even if Reid asks, telling him it had been just a dream? Or admitting it and his feelings, and risk a pitied, polite rejection?

Or worse, having Reid reciprocate?

What then?

Hotchner feels a creeping dread, a rush of insecurity. What games has he been playing, anyway? He’s never courted a man, never dreamed he ever would, and even still, it’s _Reid_ , who isn’t an ordinary man by any means. What sort of proposal would he even be offering Reid? He’s an old widower with a young son, who works too hard and laughs even less. Didn’t Reid deserve someone better than him?

Pretending nothing happened is seeming more appealing by the minute.

Or so Hotchner thinks, but there’s a gentle tap on the door and then Reid is there in front of him, and all of his affection comes back tenfold. He’s not sure he manages to keep it all in, not sure what sort of expression he wears, but Reid suddenly looks a bit worried and asks:

“Hotch? Are you okay?”

“Fine, just,” Hotchner pauses, stands from behind his desk and goes over to close the door of his office. “I was just worried about you.”

“Just a bump on the head,” Reid says, and when Hotchner turns to look at him, Reid smiles in that wry way he does when he’s about to be self-deprecating. “JJ says I’m lucky I’m hard-headed or it could have been worse.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”

“If you hadn’t been there, it could have been,” Reid says, “you saved my life, Hotch.”

Hotchner doesn’t know what to say, and maybe Reid takes that as a bad sign, because he suddenly looks a bit fidgety.

“This might sound, ah, kind of weird,” Reid begins.

Hotchner gives him his full attention, nodding at him to continue. He doesn’t think he can speak anyway, not right now, because he has a feeling he knows where this conversation is leading. Leave it to him to fall for the man with the eidetic memory. Even half-conscious, he can remember everything.

“Um,” Reid swallows and looks down at the carpet, “back in the woods, when…”

Reid trails off and touches the back of his head.

“I don’t remember a lot,” Reid confesses, “but, ah, I think, maybe I remember something. Or maybe I don’t. I’m not sure if it happened or--”

“Reid,” Hotchner says gently, stopping his nervous rambling.

It centers Reid, like it always seems to do, helping him get back on track, and Hotchner is as much proud as he is afraid of him in that moment, because if Reid asks, he won’t be able to lie.

“Did you kiss me?” Reid asks, and the words aren’t even out of his mouth before his cheeks flush with turn a color Hotchner thinks is delightful.

“I did,” Hotchner says, and something minute shifts in Reid, like clouds breaking away for the sun, and Hotchner can scarcely breathe, not knowing what it means, not yet.

“Oh,” is all Reid manages.

Then he’s quiet for a long minute, but Hotchner can practically hear the thoughts turning round in his head.

“They say that in stressful situations--” Reid begins.

“It wasn’t because of a stressful situation,” Hotchner says, and upon realizing that it’s not entirely true, amends: “Well, it’s not entirely because of a stressful situation.”

Reid looks confused, and Hotchner worries that he’s read the situation all wrong.

“I’m...sorry, it’s unprofessional,” Hotchner says, clamping down on the thing in his chest that writhes with hurt at the rejection. “If you feel uncomfortable working with me, I--”

“No!”

Reid had looked up with his outburst, but the moment their eyes meet, he averts his gaze from Hotchner’s.

“I mean, no, Hotch, I don’t,” Reid says, swallows, as he takes a small step closer to Hotchner, “feel uncomfortable.”

They fall quiet again, looking at each other, then looking away. There’s yearning and desire in both of them, but Hotchner’s not sure what that means exactly. He’s not a young man and Reid’s not an ordinary man, so what is the appropriate thing to do or say?

“I’m sorry,” Hotchner says, and winces slightly, knowing that an apology is probably not the best way to start things. But he has Reid’s attention and Hotchner isn’t about to stop halfway through. “I didn’t mean to. Without asking, that is. I just…I thought I’d lost you before I ever got the chance to ask and. Well, then you weren’t. I was relieved.”

“Why...didn’t you say anything…?” Reid asks quietly. “Earlier, I mean?”

Reid is close enough to him that Hotchner can touch him, but he doesn’t. It’s Reid that reaches for him, the loose clasp of a finger round his own, and it’s grounding, that touch. Reid doesn’t often offer contact, so Hotchner clings to the moment, his warmth, for strength.

“I know how hard things have been after,” Hotchner stops himself, not wanting to see Reid’s tortured expression at the mention of Maeve, “and I… didn’t think it was appropriate...or the right time…”

“But,” Reid begins, and then bites at his lip as he looks away, “what about Beth?”

“We ended it a while ago,” Hotchner says.

Reid looks stricken for him.

“I’m...sorry, Hotch...”

“It was mutual.”

“I thought...you were finally happy after...and Jack, too… You were smiling again and so I...I was happy too.”

Something in Hotchner’s chest clenches, because Reid had loved him enough to stand aside and let Hotchner be happy with someone else who wasn’t him.

“How long?” Hotchner asks, touching Reid’s cheek.

Reid leans into it like he’s starved for it. And maybe he is, Hotchner realizes. He’s never heard of Reid taking a lover, only that everyone worried for him being lonely. And then there had been Maeve, and she and Reid had never even met until the day she died. He’d never held her until her last moment. It makes Hotchner want to take Reid into his arms and hold him and never let go.

“A long time,” Reid says.

“How long?” Hotchner asks again, and Reid’s lashes flutter when Hotchner touches his hair.

“Does it matter?” Reid asks.

When their eyes meet, Hotchner sees it, clear as day.

“All this time?”

Reid gives him a rueful little smile.

“I seem to have a tendency to...want to be with people I can’t have.”

“You can have me,” Hotchner says.

Reid looks at him, so very hopeful it nearly breaks Hotchner’s heart.

“What?” he asks.

“You can have me,” Hotchner says again, and feels his pulse hammer in his throat in a way it never did with Haley or Beth or anyone else. This is Reid and he’s one of a kind and Hotchner wants more than he’s ever wanted before. “I’m not much, but...You can have me.”

The smile Reid gives him in response is somewhere between exuberant and terrified. Hotchner can feel him shaking, so he reaches out and takes both of Reid’s hands in his.

“Would it be alright...if I kissed you?” Hotchner asks, somewhat awkwardly. He’s forgotten all the rules when it comes to this sort of thing, and isn’t quite sure what’s changed since the last time he courted someone.

“I think...I’d like that.”

Hotchner’s never actually kissed a man before. There had been fantasies, yes, but nothing more, and he feels somewhat unprepared. Reid looks just as he feels, and somehow that gives Hotchner the courage not let his lack of confidence keep them apart a moment longer.

He’s slow as he comes close to Reid, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, giving him enough room to move away if he needs it. But Reid seems drawn to him in the same way he’d leaned into Hotchner’s hand, in the same way that he does now when Hotchner cups his cheeks and leans in close. The simple touch has Reid’s eyes syrupy dark, half-obscured by lashes, and he’s so beautiful that Hotchner completely forgets himself.

It’s Reid that reminds him, with the soft press of lips against his. It’s a little shy, but not too-timid to suggest to Hotchner that Reid’s never done this before. He knows what he’s doing, with his eyes and with his hands sliding up to Hotchner’s shoulders, and the way that he slots himself against Hotchner’s front so that they’re fitted perfectly together. It’s exhilarating to have every inch of Reid next to him, electrifying to feel the strong jaw beneath his palms, the scratch of stubble against his chin.

Hotchner falls into the kiss like diving headfirst into a wave, and he lets himself drown in it without any intent to resurface. He vaguely registers pressing Reid against his desk, the feel of deft fingers loosening his tie, then sliding under his jacket in an attempt to push it off, and Hotchner isn’t about question it, not with how hot his office had suddenly become…

He’s considering stopping to properly disrobe, but then Reid does something with his tongue and Hotchner can’t help but grip at his hair for how amazing it feels.

Reid pulls away with a short hiss of pain, and that sufficiently stops Hotchner in his tracks, not having expected such a sound. He moves back, giving Reid space, even though it’s hard with the other man perched on the edge of his desk, looking thoroughly debauched with his wrinkled front and kiss-reddened lips.

“Sorry, I, uh,” Reid says, touching the place behind his right ear with a wince, “think I pulled my stitches.”

Hotchner feels a rush of guilt.

“My fault, I shouldn’t have…” Hotchner says, coming closer to inspect the damage.

Reid tilts his head to the side, allowing Hotchner to see. The wound is just behind his ear, already on its way to healing, though the stitches look a little red now that Hotchner has gone and aggravated it.

“Under normal circumstances, I like it,” Reid says, and Hotchner watches as the skin up to his ears flushes, “hair pulling, I mean.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hotchner says, before placing a soft kiss just below Reid’s ear.

Reid trembles at the affection, and when Hotchner does it again, Reid makes a low, sweet sound very close to his ear. Hotchner’s just wondering what other sorts of sounds Reid can make, when there’s a knock, but before Hotchner can even raise his head, the door opens.

Garcia stands there, stock still in the doorway, her eyes wide, mouth in a perfect circle.

“Oh, oh, I just--I’m so sorry!” she says frantically, covering her eyes with the tablet in her hand.

Hotchner knows immediately what sort of picture they paint: Reid on the edge of the desk with Hotchner standing between his legs, the two of them bent close together, their clothes rumpled and hair disheveled. There’s absolutely no way to save the situation, so Hotchner doesn’t even try.

“Yes, Garcia?” Hotchner asks.

“There’s a meeting in…conference room...” Garcia peeks over her tablet, and then covers her eyes again before whirling around toward the door. “I’m going! Sir!”

When the door closes, Reid gives Hotchner a worried look.

“Are you going to get in trouble?”

“Why would you think I’d get into trouble?” Hotchner asks.

“Well, you are my boss,” Reid says, straightening Hotchner’s tie. “I think this counts as fraternization.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Hotchner says, feeling a smile come of its own volition when he sees Reid’s grin.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Reid says, glancing at the door.

“I’m sure Garcia can be discrete.”

“I’m not sure the word _discrete_ could be used to describe Penelope…”

“Well, you’re right, but she won’t tell the higher-ups. However the whole team will know about this by now, I hope you’re prepared.”

Reid groans and leans his forehead against Hotchner’s shoulder.

“Ashamed of me already?” Hotchner teases, and Reid raises his head.

“No! Hotch I’m--”

Hotchner silences him with a kiss.

“I was just kidding,” Hotchner says, and Reid calms a little, but still looks anxious. “I can make jokes, you know.”

“It’s different,” Reid says, and then, all in a rush: “Good, different, not bad.”

Hotchner kisses him again, and this time lingers just a bit longer, until the tension leaves Reid’s body entirely.

“Are you really so worried about the team?” Hotchner asks. “Afraid they’ll accuse me of favoritism?”

“No, I’m worried everyone’s going to try to give me the sex talk.”

Hotchner doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that, but when he does, it doesn’t come in words, but in laughter. Reid goes a little red.

“It’s not funny, Hotch!”

“It’s actually very funny,” Hotchner answers, and before Reid can pout about it, he adds: “and if it makes you feel any better, I’ll probably be getting the shovel talk.”

The fact that Reid tries very hard not to smile tells Hotchner that his uneasiness has passed.

“Well, should we get it over with?” Hotchner asks, offering his arm.

“Better late than never, I guess…” Reid says, sliding off the edge of the desk to take Hotchner’s proffered arm.

They touch only until they are at the threshold of Hotchner’s office door, then they part as they make their way down the hall toward the conference room.

Everyone is already seated, looking at them expectantly. That is, everyone except for Rossi, who is still reading his case file. Reid pretends to be very interested in the window on the far wall while Hotchner straightens his tie to the straightest of proportions. Their attempt at normalcy makes Garcia elicit a small, high-pitched sound for some reason that Hotchner cannot explain.

Hotchner clears his throat, trying for business as usual.

“We’re ready when you are, Garcia,” he says.

That’s when Rossi looks up from his file, blinks at Hotchner and Reid, and then grins wide for everyone to see.

“Well it’s about damned time. You two have been mooning over each other for years now,” Rossi says.

“Oh thank God someone said it. I noticed it the moment I started,” Blake adds.

“Wait, you mean you haven’t been together all this time?” Morgan asks.

“We should probably get to the case at hand,” Hotchner says, but Garcia holds up the remote.

“No, we should all talk about our feelings first. Happy things, then gross gory things after,” Garcia says, and Reid gives Hotchner a look like he’d much rather the floor swallow him right there.

“I am very happy for you two,” JJ says, dabbing at the corner of her eyes. “Spence, it’s like you’re all grown up.”

“I am grown up…?” Reid says.

“Wait, so really, all this time? Like, you two... not even once?” Morgan asks, and Garcia pats his arm.

“Oh, my sweet summer child, how much you do not know,” she says.

“You didn’t know until five minutes ago.”

“I totally knew. I've got eyes. Eyes everywhere. Remember that, hot chocolate.”

Hotchner takes his seat while Garcia and Morgan go back and forth. Reid takes the empty chair next to him. Their knees brush beneath the table. At the touch, Reid looks at Hotchner out of the corner of his eye and smiles, like they’re sharing a secret, and Hotchner returns it.

“Okay, you guys are too cute, stop it,” JJ says.

“Is it time to derail this happy train with some very sad murder?” Garcia asks.

And sad murder it is, one that is taking them out West on short notice to try and figure out if a series of suicides are actually homicides.

“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotchner tells the team.

They all disperse to grab their go bags and finish the last few touches on any remaining work they have. But before Reid leaves the conference room, Hotchner reaches for his hand, and Reid lets him take it without any sign of discomfort at the touch.

“When we get back, would you like to go to dinner?”

Reid beams like the sun on a summer day, and Hotchner is dazed by how breathtaking Reid can be when he’s happy.

“I’d like that,” Reid says.

He looks down the hallway outside of the door before turning his attention back to Hotchner, leaning in until they are as close as they can be without becoming unprofessional.

“Before we go, could we...” Reid leans in closer now, lips just an inch away from Hotchner’s with clear intention. “I know we can’t while we’re working the case, so. Just one more time? If that’s alright?”

Hotchner smiles and draws him close.

“It’s always alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to come, if desired xx


End file.
